Here's your Freakin' Answer!
by Poetic.blue
Summary: Inspired by Bowling for Soup's song "Here's your freaking song". Kinda fluffy. Seddie.


(**AN: This was inspired by "Here's your freakin' song" by Bowling for soup. I don't own that, or iCarly. Please tell me what you think)**

Freddie Benson never lied. Ever. He went to church, and lying was a sin. Although, really, it wasn't that that stopped him, more so that he knew his mother would somehow find out he had lied to someone, and God only knew what she'd do to him. So no, he didn't lie.

But he didn't always tell the truth. He had picked up the habit of kind of sorta answering questions, but not really. Usually he did it when someone asked him a direct question about how he felt, and the truth would hurt them.

That's what he did with Sam. A lot. He supposed it was because, although she put up the front that nothing hurt her, he knew her, and knew that she was a lot more emotional than she ever let on. He also did it because she constantly asked him the same question: What do you think of me? Honestly?

And he'd laugh and say what do you think? I love you, don't I?

And she'd usually smile and tell him he was sweet, and he'd better love her.

And that was the truth. He did love her. With all his heart. Which was why he couldn't directly answer her question. But he never had to, because she had never picked up on his little trick before.

Until now. Now she shook her head. "No. Don't do that. Answer the question."

"What are you talking about?" Playing dumb wasn't lying, right?

"You didn't answer the question. You skirted it with rhetorical questions. You always do."

"Rhetorical questions? Sam, have you actually been paying attention in English? I'm proud of"

"No." She repeated. "You're not changing the subject. You're telling me, once and for all, exactly what you think of me."

"Let's not get into this right now, ok?" He prayed she would lay off.

She didn't. "No, not ok. Tell me, or I swear to God I'll hurt you." She took hold of his arm and began to twist, sending marks of pain into his shoulder.

"Sam, I'm telling you- Oww! this isn't a good" she pressed his arm up, coming closer and closer to breaking it "Oww!" he shouted again. "Fine, I'll tell you! Just stop trying to break me." Almost immediately, she released him, and he half leapt off the couch, running to his kitchen.

"Do you promise not to hurt me?" he kept the island between them, even though she hadn't even gotten up.

"No." She didn't even think, she just responded.

"Well then I can't-"

"Fine! I won't kill you! Just tell me the truth already!" she screamed the last part.

"Just so you know, you're not gonna like my answer."

"Tell me."

"Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you." He took a deep breath, preparing himself, as well as stalling. "Honestly, you piss me off to no end. You have no manners, you never take into consideration how others feel, you never listen to my side of things, you bitch about stupid stuff, you're violent, you always have something to say about everything, even though you rarely know anything about the subject, but you still chime in with no regard for what anyone else's opinion is. Every time I do anything for you, it's never enough, it's never right, somehow I screwed it up. Whenever you sleep over you keep me up at night with your snoring, and honestly, you never shut up, even when you're sleeping. You just spout nonsense about ham and love and ribs. When I finally do fall asleep, you share my pillow, and you drool on it. You constantly insult me, and pick fights with me for no reason. We never get along, and it's _your _fault.

"So there you are. You wanted to know what I really think, you got it. There's your freakin' answer."

She was silent, staring at him from the couch. He stared back, both scared to death and relieved to have finally gotten all that off his chest.

"Well?" He broke the silence "Are you happy now?"

She stood, and took slow, deliberately calm steps toward him. "That's what you honestly think?" she stepped closer and closer, eyes locked with his, face not even hinting to what she was feeling.

"Yeah." he swallowed, more terrified than relieved.

She stood still, her face inches from his. He waited for the anger, the pain.

But it didn't come.

Instead she slapped him almost playfully on the arm, a smirk on her face. "You're an ass." she declared, slipping her hands around his waist, under his over-shirt.

"Yeah," he chuckled back, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "So are you."

"Shut up."

"Make me." he said bravely.

"Oh, I will." she shoved him backwards onto the couch, then leapt on top of him, bringing her lips to his.

Yes, she was an ass alright. But he loved her anyway.


End file.
